He Becomes
by Abroma
Summary: Things keep worming their way into Draco's heart and, to be honest, he's sick of it. Or: Draco fosters bunnies.


**Summary: Things keep worming their way into Draco's heart and, to be honest, he's sick of it. Or: Draco fosters bunnies.**

**Alternate title: I wanted to use the name Kingsley Shacklebun, and then this happened.**

**Enjoy! Title (and parts of the story) inspired by The Velveteen Rabbit.**

* * *

Draco wasn't left with much after the war, but he has a few things now. He's got a flat, that sometimes feels like home. He's got his inappropriate crush on his co-worker, which he clings to when he's feeling especially numb, and he has his job at the ministry as a junior caseworker looking into witches and wizards performing underage magic, which can be good or bad depending on how he's feeling about the aforementioned crush, who happens to work two cubicles down doing work related to the International Statute of Secrecy.

He also has Pansy, which is as much a good thing as it is a bad thing these days. Maybe even more of a bad thing, at the moment.

"I don't understand," she sniffs. "Did you want rabbits?"

The air is light and fragrant in the tea shop with the sounds of clinking china and silver spoons surrounding them. Pansy is sipping at her cup of tea, but it's still too hot for Draco. He keeps his hands folded around the sides, feeling the warmth spread through his palms.

"Obviously," Draco says. "I offered to take them, didn't I?"

"No, but," she set down her teacup and runs her dainty fingers around the rim. "Did you _want_ them? _Rabbits_?"

"I was told that they're fixed, litter-trained, and bonded, whatever that means, but it shouldn't be difficult. It'll only be a few days – until they're adopted."

"But–" Pansy still looks and sounds confused, and Draco can't blame her because this whole thing came together in about two hours, after Granger came to his cubicle saying _I need you, can you help me?_ "Where will you put them?"

He hasn't gotten all the kinks worked out yet. He shrugs. "They're the size of my fist," he holds up a fist to communicate his point, then looks at it. "Or maybe–" he pushes two fists together, his fingers pressed up against each other. "Like that."

"Draco," she says, leaning forward and folding her hands together in front of her teacup, and he knows he's not going to like whatever she's going to say next. "I feel like this is my fault."

His hands twitch, splashing his tea over the side of the cup and onto his knuckles.

"Shit," he mutters, bringing his finger to his lips and sucking at the burned area. He shakes his hand out. "What do you mean, your fault?"

"Well," she dips her napkin in her glass of water and hands it to him, and he presses it against his fingers. "I can't help but think this is about what I said, you know, the last time."

He has to think about what she's referencing because she does most of the talking when they go out like this. Draco doesn't have much to share beyond his job – which is unchanging and unsatisfying – and his flat, which Pansy says is too small for someone of his stature; he's still not sure if she's talking about his size or his reputation, both of which are able to fit comfortably in the space he's chosen for himself.

"Remind me." He prompts her with his chin while he soothes the burns on his hand.

"I just." She takes a sip of tea and then pushes the cup and saucer to the side. "I know I told you to find hobbies, but I meant," her hand waves in circles in the air, "you know, a recreational quidditch league, or gobstones in the park, or something. Not," she looks from one side to the other, then leans in close, "_rodents_."

"It's not like that," he says and picks up his cup to blow on his tea, the same Darjeeling that he gets every week. "It's a favor."

"A favor." He nods, taking a tentative sip – still hot. "For whom?"

He's made it this far without saying her name, and although he had been hoping to avoid it, he doesn't see a way he can _not_ say it, so he takes a deep breath and schools his features into a casual expression of nonchalance.

"Granger," he says, waving it off like it doesn't matter (because it doesn't). "But it's nothing, really. There was an emergency at the shelter, she said, and they're short-staffed. It's a favor for her friend, actually."

But Pansy tilts her head and pouts at him in that way she does with people she pities. "Oh, Draco." Her voice is very soft, and it makes his stomach roil.

"No, it's not–" he bites his tongue. "That's not necessary. It's not permanent. She – her friend, I mean – was desperate, from the sound of it."

"You don't even know how to care for them."

His leg begins to bounce up and down underneath the table. "How hard can it be? They're just like – rats, or mice, or – anyway." He sips his tea and winces at the burn as it slides down his throat. He sets the cup down. "They're not _owls_, Pansy."

"Speaking of," she says sharply, "what will you do with Oryx? You know owls eat rabbits, Draco."

He rolls his eyes because he had already thought of that. "Oryx has never been allowed out of the study. He's well-behaved and well-fed. It's not an issue."

"You don't _have_ anything for them. I assume they don't eat whatever you like these days. Pasta, or chicken salad, or those papery danishes that you like at that shop."

He doesn't rise to the bait. "As it happens, I don't have to worry about that."

She raises a brow. "Oh?"

"Granger's going to get everything set up. She's coming by today, actually, and then again tomorrow with the..._them._"

He doesn't look at her when he's talking, but when Pansy's silence stretches on, he chances a look. She's leaned back in her chair, her hands in her lap. Her lips are pressed together, and her eyes are narrowed, scrutinizing him.

"I know what you're doing."

He thinks she might. "And what is that?"

Pansy hums. "You think that this will give you an opportunity to get closer to her, to let her see you outside of work." Draco has to look away. "And you think that, once that happens, she'll fall right into your arms and you'll live happily ever after."

"No, that's not–" he frowns. "That last part isn't right."

Pansy has that look again, and his jaw clenches. "You need to move on, Draco. You're not suited. Has she ever given you any indication that she returns your...affections?" She wrinkles her nose in disgust.

When he doesn't respond, looking down into his tea, she continues. "Do you even have anything to offer her? You have a terrible job, and you know they're not going to give _you_ anything better. You don't do anything, you don't _go_ anywhere, and–"

"_Stop_," he says firmly, his palms hitting the table before he can stop them. His fingers tighten in the fabric of the tablecloth. "Just – stop."

She reaches over and places her hand on top of his. "I don't like seeing you like this. Giving to people from whom you'll get nothing in return."

He avoids her eyes and pulls his hand back, looking out the window instead of at her. "It's just a few days," he says with finality, "and then everything will go back to normal." His skin prickles, but Pansy looks temporarily placated.

"Please be careful," she says.

He breathes in, breathes out. A normal day. "Of course."

X-X

The rabbits won't take up too much space, as it turns out. Granger helps him set everything up in his flat, and the nerves related to the rabbits are only eclipsed by the nerves that come from having Hermione Granger in his flat for the first time.

She comes by the day before the rabbits come, arms loaded with two cages, two water bottles, a bowl for food, hay and a trough in which to put it, a litter box for each cage, and a large bag of food pellets.

"These are just the basics," she says, her arms full when he opens the door. "They should do fine for a couple of days."

"You didn't shrink them?" He takes one of the cages from her hands, and she sighs in relief. "Have you forgotten you're a witch?"

She glowers at him as she puts everything on the ground in a pile. "Right," she says. "Where did you want to set these up?"

They set up the cages in the corner, attaching the water bottles to the side, and fill the food bowl and the hay trough just outside, between the two. Granger steps back as he lines everything up in an organized way, and he does a double take when he stands up, rubbing his hands together, and looks back to find her watching him.

He pauses, turning back to the cages, making sure everything is there and set up correctly. "Is it – have I done something wrong?"

She flushes, a wrinkle appearing at the corner of her lips, and she shakes her head. "No, you – it looks good."

His breath catches in his throat, even though he remembers what Pansy said earlier. He tries to help it, and sometimes he thinks he might be through the worst of it and coming out on the other side, but then she'll get him his tea just the way he likes it, or she'll pick up an extra pastry (that is _not_ papery) for him at the cafe around the corner, and he'll think about it the rest of the day.

This doesn't necessarily have to be a hopeless thing though, with the rabbits. He'll keep them for a couple of days, and then they'll be gone, but Granger will remember that when she needed him, he was there. She'll come to his flat once or twice while the rabbits are here, and maybe she'll feel comfortable returning even after they've gone. Eventually, he may be able to show her that he's more than just a low-level ministry cog, if he is indeed more than that.

He won't even need to deal with the rabbits much, he thinks, because how much work could they be? They'll stay in the corner, and he'll feed them and give them water and hay, and then in a couple of days, Granger will take all of this equipment back. It will be like they were never here in the first place. This will be okay.

"Well, it looks like you're all set up," she says, reaching for her jacket on the back of the couch.

"Great," he picks it up and hands it to her. "Thanks for the…" he waves his hand over his shoulder, "things."

"Of course. I really owe you for doing this." She slips her arms in the jacket and pulls her hair out from under the collar. "I didn't know what we were going to do if you said no."

She slips on her shoes, and he wants to say something else like _I could never say no_ or _would you like to stay for dinner_ but he only watches as she opens the door, gives him a small smile over her shoulder, and pulls it closed behind her.

He goes into the kitchen, looking at the double portions that are cooking under a heating spell, and wipes a hand down his face.

X-X

Granger comes back the next day with the rabbits, and he is struck by how small they are, and how delicate they look. Their front paws seem too petite to handle any sort of weight, but as soon as she opens the carrier, they bound out of it and into his flat, skidding on the hardwood floor before they find the rug in the sitting room.

There are three of them. One is white, with thick black markings around her eyes, one is tan with a flat face and chubby cheeks, and the last one is brown, with floppy ears that fall down his face. All of them have twitchy noses and round, glinting eyes.

They watch the rabbits get acclimated to the flat, Draco with one hand on his hip and the other scratching his jaw, and Granger with both hands on her cheeks, smiling.

"Do they have names?" Draco asks, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.

"No," she shakes her head. "Well, I assume they did at one point. They were abandoned."

"Abandoned?" He cocks his head, not taking his eyes off of the three small animals making a playground of his flat. He's not fond of them, and he's definitely going to be creating a cordoned-off area for them once Granger leaves, but he can't imagine just...bringing them out somewhere and deserting them.

"The shelter gets a lot of them this time of year. Families get them as gifts for their children for Easter, and they turn out to be – not quite what they're expecting."

Already, he can see the differences in the personalities of the three rabbits. The white rabbit has sought out a space to sit quietly, nose twitching, watching the other two explore. The brown rabbit seems to have already taken to the new area, sprinting back and forth on the rug and hopping into the air. The tan rabbit is more careful, involved in a meticulous study of Draco's couch after having sniffed all reachable surfaces of his coffee table.

He doesn't know what he expects, either, but he doesn't want to let Granger down when she looks at him like that – grateful and hopeful, like she believes in him.

"It's quite sad," she continues, "and the shelter tries its best to discourage it, but some parents only care about making their children happy for a couple of days without thinking of the consequences.

It reminds him of things that his parents did for him. Things like buying brooms for the Slytherin team to ensure his spot on the roster, or causing a hippogriff to be executed because he wanted to be dramatic. She's talking about the kind of person that he is, or was, the kind who acts on impulse without looking at long-term repercussions. His chest tightens, and he wonders if it's deliberate, the parallel she's drawn. If she's trying to tell him what she thinks of him.

He wants to be the kind of person that she can believe in, like the way she was looking at him before, and not the kind that makes her voice sound heavy and forlorn like it does now.

"Anyway," she rubs her hands together with a tight shake of her head, "I should tell you how to care for them."

He gives her his mostly undivided attention while she goes over feeding and cleaning instructions, and gives him the name and address of a store in Diagon Alley where he can repurchase any supplies in case he runs out. The rest of his attention is focused on the tan rabbit, who is cautiously approaching them, one small paw stepping forward in front of the other, his ears pulled back, flat against his body.

"And that's it!" Her face is flushed and her eyes bright and excited. The volume of her voice startles the tan rabbit, who turns on his heel and runs to the cages in the corner. "Do you have any questions? Need anything else?"

He looks to the door leading into the kitchen where he has a full pot of tea and a plate of biscuits under a stasis charm. He frowns.

"Nothing," he says, and she leaves.

X-X

The rabbits don't do much after Granger leaves. The white one sniffs out the food bowl in the corner, while the tan and brown rabbits circle the area of the rug. They're easy enough to scoop up and carry to the cages, although the tan one wriggles in his hands the whole way over. There's only one food bowl, so he uses his wand to set up a one-way perimeter around the open cages that the rabbits won't be able to penetrate. Once he is confident that they won't get out, he relaxes on his couch and reads.

He doesn't get very far, admittedly, because ten minutes in, the brown rabbit starts gnawing on the metal bars of one of the cages, giving off an irritating, tinny sound.

"Stop it," Draco says, looking over the top of his book, and is surprised when he actually _does_ stop. The rabbit looks at him for a long second, then jumps out of the cage, runs two circles around the partitioned area, and jumps back into the cage to continue chewing on the bars.

"Cut that out, I'm serious." He doesn't listen, which isn't shocking because he's a rabbit, so Draco tries snapping his fingers. Like before, he stops, runs two circles around the area, and then jumps back into the cage and resumes his task of infuriating Draco.

This time, the tan rabbit joins in from the other cage.

He throws his book down, stomps over to the brown rabbit's cage, and nudges it with its foot. The brown rabbit stops, startled, and then jumps out of the cage _again_. This time, though, he stays close to the outer edge and thumps his back leg against the ground, looking up at Draco. The tan rabbit comes to the partition in front of Draco, switching between sitting on all fours and standing on his hind legs only as if he can't decide whether or not he wants Draco's attention.

Draco sighs and crouches down to scratch the tan rabbit's head, frowning when the brown rabbit steps over and nudges his own nose in front of the other, vying for Draco's affection. The white rabbit watches them from her seat next to the hay trough but doesn't join in. She pulls her head back, adjusting her feet underneath her, and settles further into herself, closing her eyes.

It becomes clear that the tan rabbit is the one that Draco dislikes the least. The white rabbit, while inoffensive, is uninteresting, and the brown rabbit is on the opposite end of the spectrum, constantly making outrageous demands for attention, running around the flat like it's his own. The tan one brings focus onto him in a quiet, innocuous way by stepping his paws onto Draco's feet, or by sitting in front of him on his hind legs and looking up at him. He is careful in the way that he explores the room, different from the reckless habits of the brown rabbit and the reserved nature of the white.

He wants to reward him, because he deserves the most but is getting the least, with the white rabbit setting up camp by the hay trough and the brown rabbit monopolizing the food bowl. He tries to remember what Granger had said about the different vegetables they can eat, but it was at that point in her speech that she had wet her mouth and then pressed her thumb below her bottom lip, accentuating it, and he hadn't paid close attention to her words.

He doesn't have much to choose from in his food supplies, anyway, but he does have a bag of spinach, so he takes out a leaf and brings it to the corner, dropping it in front of the tan rabbit.

He sniffs at it and then looks back at Draco.

"It's – you eat it," he tries, feeling ridiculous. "You're supposed to like it, you are a – no, no! Stop!" He leans down to push the brown rabbit away, but he's already stolen the spinach leaf from right under the tan rabbit's nose and ran back inside the cage. The tan rabbit, while startled, isn't distraught, but Draco can't help but feel upset on his behalf.

He scratches the tan rabbit's head, and the rabbit stands up higher on his hind legs, pushing his nose into Draco's hand.

X-X

When Granger comes to check on them the next day, Draco has abandoned the idea of a partition, instead opting to clean up his flat and let them run free. It helps with the annoying gnawing at the cage bars, but introduces its own problems, like having to watch where he steps at all times and dealing with the rabbits chewing on other things in his flat. He has caught the brown rabbit biting at his wicker baskets, his wooden coffee table, and even the fabric seams on his couch. He has cast protection charms on all of his furniture, but the rabbits are creative enough in what they find to eat around the room that it seems like a fruitless effort to stay one step ahead of them.

He does remember to put up a partition between the sitting room and the study because he's confident Granger wouldn't appreciate it if Oryx found a way to get to the rabbits.

He's sitting on the couch with the brown rabbit, who has begun jumping onto the furniture by himself (despite Draco's attempts at negative reinforcement), while the white rabbit sleeps under the table and the tan rabbit chews on the edge of his rug when the knock on the door comes. The tan rabbit follows Draco to the door, skittering behind him, and places himself at his heel so that Draco has to shuffle his feet to avoid stepping on him when he brings Granger inside.

She smells like something today. Something floral, and Draco wonders if it's new or if he is so used to the smell of rabbits that he's forgotten what she usually smells like. And then he becomes self-conscious about his flat smelling like rabbits, but he's been very diligent in cleaning out the litter boxes. He wishes that he had made something more fragrant for supper, but there is an absence of smell wafting in from the kitchen, and all he can smell is her.

The tan rabbit's whiskers brush at Draco's ankle as he pokes his head around to look at Granger, and Draco nudges him with his heel to push him forward. The rabbit takes a few careful steps forward and then sniffs at her feet.

"Aren't you precious," she whispers. She picks him up, holding him in front of her face to kiss his nose, and keeps his back legs still when he tries to wriggle away. She has a soft look in her eyes, and Draco catches himself staring. He clears his throat.

"That's Kingsley."

She brings the rabbit to her chest, looking at Draco over its head. "Kingsley."

"Yes. Kingsley Shacklebun."

She blinks. And then she blinks again.

"Kingsley...Shacklebun?"

"Yes," Draco nods. "And he doesn't like being held like that, so if you could put him back down."

"I – oh, yes, of course." Granger drops to one knee and holds the tan rabbit close to the ground, where it promptly hops from her hand and resumes sniffing her foot and rubbing his chin on her.

"So," she straightens, "you've named them."

"Just him." He looks down at his feet as Kingsley sits back on his hind legs, looking up at him. "It seems to fit."

"Why Kingsley?"

"His poise. His ability to command a room."

She furrows her brow. "No, I meant for – the rabbit, why for the rabbit."

"That is why. Look," he gestures down to where Kingsley is leaning over Hermione's foot, supporting himself on his front paws, and nipping at her ankle.

She still looks confused, but she shakes her head. "And the other two?"

"I don't like the brown one much; he's quite meddlesome. The white one is okay." He leans down and rubs two fingers between Kingsley's eyes, and the rabbit lifts his nose in acceptance and encouragement. The brown rabbit darts towards them, startling Kingsley into running back into one of the cages, and Draco scowls.

Granger looks at him strangely, and he shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

"That's...that's great, Malfoy, really. Thanks again for doing this."

He waves her off, but she continues. "No, I mean it. You're really helping Beth out." Beth, he remembers, is her friend from the shelter.

He doesn't care about helping Beth. He does, however, care about helping the frustrating and intoxicating witch standing before him. And if in the process of said helping, she happens to be impressed by how responsible, caring, and sexy (that part was independent of the rabbits) he can be, well, who is he to complain?

"How much longer do you need me to keep them?"

"The ad's going out tomorrow, and Beth's expecting them to go quick. No surprise there," she adds in a high squeaky voice, bending over to scratch the brown rabbit's back, who has taken Kingsley's place hanging around their feet. She straightens up. "So, it's quite possible you'll get your life back by the weekend."

Ah yes, his life. The one that he was missing out on.

"It's really no trouble, Granger, honest."

"Still, I'd hate to inconvenience you any more than you've been already."

He stares at her because it strikes him then that it hasn't been an inconvenience at all. For the last few days, instead of reading or cooking or getting ahead on his unfulfilling work, he's been watching and taking care of these rabbits and finding himself thoroughly entertained. They're like a show on the wireless, with their own plotlines and inside jokes and character arcs.

Kingsley is slowly stepping back towards them, and Draco feels his two little paws come up to press into his calf. He looks down, and the corner of his lips quirk up at the beady eyes looking back at him.

"So we'll be in touch. About any interest."

He looks up, Kingsley's nails scratching lightly down his heel as he lowers himself onto four legs. She bites her lip, and Draco thinks of the two servings of spaghetti he has in the kitchen under stasis.

"Hm?"

"For the – the ad."

"Oh, yes. Right, of course." His voice sounds like it's coming from far away like his mouth is across the room when the rest of him is still right here. She's staring at him, her eyes flitting from his face down to Kingsley by his feet.

"So I'll–" she uses her thumb to point over her shoulder at the door, but she doesn't make a move towards it.

"Right." He pushes past her, feeling too big for his skin, with Kingsley nipping at his heel. He has a hand on the knob, ready to pull it open and watch her leave, when he pauses, his fingers twitching on the cool metal.

He turns, hand still on the knob, and her eyes flick up to his face.

"Do you," he rubs a hand over his mouth. "Have you eaten?"

She shakes her head, eyes wide, hands wringing. "I haven't."

"It's nothing much, but I've made spaghetti," he gestures towards the closed kitchen door, "if you'd like."

He can't breathe for the three seconds it takes to answer. When she agrees, he swallows, and it feels like sandpaper.

The conversation doesn't flow, and Draco only eats half of his supper because of how violently his stomach is rolling. She asks questions about work, but nothing about punishing underage witches and wizards for using magic, something he did hundreds of times, is worth talking about, so he doesn't have anything to say.

She talks about her work with the International Statute of Secrecy, and her passion is so palpable that at times he finds himself holding his breath, watching her face flush and her hands wave in excited circles in the air. She talks about the animal rescue, and her friendship with Beth, who she met in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures before she left to start the shelter. Draco tries to talk about his only friendship with Pansy, but their relationship has been so long and complicated that he has trouble explaining it.

They're in the middle of a long silence, and Draco is trying to make the bite of food in his mouth last for as long as he can when Granger sets her fork down and smiles at him.

"So, I can see that Kingsley is your favorite," she says, "but what about the other two? What do you think?"

He talks effortlessly about the rabbits, more so than anything else he's talked about recently, and his pulse, which has been hammering in his ear the whole meal, becomes a little more manageable. He goes over his observations of their personalities, their quirks, and their habits. He can't help the irritation seeping into his voice when he describes the brown rabbit, but when he looks up at Granger she's grinning at him, and he has to take a breath so he doesn't trip over his words.

Kingsley scampers under the table between their feet, his nails scratching against the tile. He puts his paws up on Draco's feet, and Draco leans down to rub his fingers on his head before he runs over to Granger's feet, and she does the same.

"I think I see it now," she says when he holds the door open as she's leaving. "Why you named him Kingsley."

When Granger leaves, he turns on the wireless to listen to the Arrows match and will his heart to stop pounding, and Kingsley sits at his feet.

X-X

She comes back two days later, and she's already smiling at him when he opens the door. His heart stutters when she sees him, and her smile widens.

"Careful where you step." He opens the door fully and steps back to allow her through. "The Professor is sleeping just by the wall, there."

Hermione pauses and looks down to her side, where the white rabbit is fast asleep, lying on her side by the wall and making small, sweet whimpering noises. She looks back up at Draco.

"You've...named another one."

"Mm." Draco nods, gesturing to the white rabbit. "Professor Bunns."

"Fitting." Granger giggles and Draco's chest warms.

"I don't name them on a whim, Granger."

"Of course not," she says, teasing. She pushes her coat off her shoulders, and he steps forward at the last minute to help her out of it. She looks around the room, her eyes catching at several points. "And I see you've expanded."

"Hm?" Draco looks around, to where various wooden chewing sticks and toys litter the floor, and a metal playpen has been pushed against the wall. "Oh, well, you know. They were eating my flat."

The wooden sticks and toys had come about to try to convince the rabbits to stop chewing on the furniture and use the designated chewing sticks instead (it didn't work), and the metal pen was to keep them from getting into anything they shouldn't while Draco wasn't there to watch them. It's the responsible thing to do, and Granger is trusting him. He doesn't take that lightly.

And yes, he may have went out and bought three different kind of leafy green vegetables at the market because each of the rabbits likes a different one – kale for Kingsley, chard for the Professor, and spinach for the poncy brown rabbit that he has yet to name – but he was already buying the kale for Kingsley, and he didn't want to play favorites between him and the Professor since the Professor hasn't done anything to annoy him. And he had to buy spinach for himself anyway.

He isn't _warming up to them_, which is what he suspects Granger is thinking from the expression on her face.

"I wanted to let you know," she says, "that there's been some positive reaction to our ad."

He feels distant all of a sudden. "Oh?"

"Yes. Beth has spoken with two people interested in one of the rabbits."

"Just one?" He can't think of one of them without the other two. He's imagined them as a set, and his stomach clenches at the thought of splitting them up. Unless it's the brown rabbit.

"Er – yes. Obviously, it's not ideal to separate bonded pairs, or trios in this case, so we're still looking, but we didn't want to turn anyone away out of hand."

Draco would have no problem turning them away for thinking they could only have one of the three, but he doesn't say so because Granger still has that knowing smile on her face.

"Which ones do they want?"

"Well," she says, wringing her hands. "One is looking at Kingsley – that's Arnie – and the other, a woman named Sue, wants to meet the white one."

"The Professor."

"Right, the Professor."

His head is spinning, and it feels a little like he might faint, so he goes to sit down on the couch, and Granger follows, sitting down by the opposite arm.

"Are you okay?" she asks, as the brown rabbit jumps up in between them and nudges Draco's hand. Draco sighs and pets him.

"Yes – fine." Granger isn't convinced, but she leaves him alone.

He can't say he's overly fond of the rabbits, but out of the three, he's the most attached to Kingsley.

Granger rubs the brown rabbit's ear, and he settles down, closing his eyes.

"You know," she says, her hand brushing Draco's as they both pet the undeserving rabbit, sending shocks up his arm, "sometimes, the people who foster animals end up adopting them." She shrugs. "If they like them well enough."

He scratches his jaw, resting his hand at the base of his throat, and looks at her out the corner of his eye. She can't be saying what he thinks she is; he can't remember giving any indication that he is either willing or qualified to keep the rabbits long-term.

"You're good with them, you know."

He wants to laugh because he's _not_ good with them. He's impatient and selfish, and he absolutely despises the brown one.

"Is that a joke?" he asks because he's convinced that it must be.

"No!" She laughs and turns toward him on the couch, bending her leg up on the cushion. Her arm comes up to rest on the back of the couch, just a breath away from his shoulder, and he resists the urge to lean further back into it. "You really are! Kingsley obviously adores you, and they're all quite comfortable here after only a few days. It's remarkable."

He looks to his side at the brown rabbit, who has rolled onto his side next to him. He looks to the Professor, who is stepping out of the corner and sniffing at the edge of his rug. Kingsley is at his feet, where he's been since the rabbits arrived. And Granger, lounging on his couch like she's always been there. Like she belongs.

"You should think about it," she says.

X-X

The man who comes to see the rabbits, Arnie, seems nice at first, and Draco is about to ask him what his intentions are when Kingsley comes skidding around his feet, standing up and pushing his front paws up onto Draco's shin.

Draco leans over to scratch Kingsley's head, and Arnie smiles and says, "how cute!"

And Draco knows then that Arnie will never be good enough for Kingsley. Because Kingsley isn't _cute. _He is complex and deep and, yes, endearing, but most of all he is looking for people to love him as much as he loves them. He is gentle, and shy, and likes to be scratched but never held. He is discerning with his affections, but when you've earned it, he gives it generously. He loves kale but hates spinach, and he sits by the wireless when Draco turns on Quidditch. He isn't a pet, he's a companion, and one Arnie isn't qualified to have.

He tells Arnie all of this, adding, "I wish I could thank you for your time, but – well. I think you should leave."

Arnie looks startled, his eyes wide and his jaw open. He snaps his mouth shut. "I'm sorry," he says, though he doesn't sound sorry at all in Draco's opinion, "I don't understand."

"If you're looking for a pet, I suggest you look elsewhere."

"He just means," Hermione steps forward, putting a hand on Arnie's arm, and that doesn't help Draco's ire at all, "that he wants Kingsley to go to someone who will appreciate him. As do I."

"I can assure you, I'm well-equipped to take care of him. I've had rabbits before, you know."

Hermione's hand is still on Arnie's arm, and Draco stares daggers at it, his jaw tightening.

"The answer's no. So – good luck, Arnie, the door's that way–"

"Arnie – Draco, please," Hermione gives him a sharp look and catches Arnie before he turns for the door. "He's joking."

"It doesn't sound like he's joking."

"I'm not."

"He has a unique sense of humor."

Arnie snorts. "A shitty one, if you ask me."

"She didn't." Draco shoulders past him to the door, which he pulls open with one quick tug, and gestures through it with his other hand.

Arnie scoffs and shakes his head, muttering under his breath, but Draco doesn't care because he does it while leaving his flat. Draco can't breathe a sigh of relief when the door slams shut before Granger is on him.

"What the hell, Draco?"

He crosses his arms and walks away from the door, towards the corner where Kingsley has laid down next to the Professor, and he crouches down, his hand reaching out to pet them. "He wasn't right."

"He was perfectly nice! You didn't even give him a chance!"

"I didn't have to." Kingsley stretches his head forward into Draco's hand.

"I thought you'd be _glad_, that you'd want your life back, to not have to deal with them–"

"That has nothing to do with it," he says, pushing himself up and turning to face her. "He wasn't a good fit, there was something – and did you hear the way he spoke to him? Positively childish."

Granger gapes at him. "_He's_ childish!"

His lips twist. "He was talking like Kingsley is a – a tea cosy, or some sort of – of decorative ornament, instead of a living, breathing–"

"Hang on," she puts her hand up to stop him. Her eyes narrow. "Are you saying that you did," she gestures to the door, "_that_, because you felt he couldn't...appreciate the depth of Kingsley's character?"

Well, it sounds stupid when she says it in that incredulous voice, and even more so when she bursts out laughing.

"It's not _funny_." Draco folds his arms across his chest. "It's insulting."

"Oh, god, stop," she swipes her thumb under her eyes, still snickering. She walks over to where Kingsley is sitting on the rug next to Draco and kneels down in front of him, extending her hand.

"Do you see how much he loves you?" she coos, and he pushes his nose into her hand.

"I don't," Draco says, and Hermione smirks at him over her shoulder. "Stop it."

"He loves you _so much_," she whispers, leaning in closer.

Draco growls, and she stifles another laugh.

"Don't worry," she cups a hand on the side of her mouth like she's telling Kingsley a secret, "your dignity remains intact."

"Okay," Draco grabs her arm and pulls her up, "that's enough."

She turns to him, still smiling, her face close and bright and her eyes glittering, and his breath leaves his lungs in a _woosh_ that fans the hair around her face, her floral scent reaching out to him. He clears his throat, and his fingers tighten, his stomach fluttering when he realizes he's still holding on to her arm. Dizzy and warm, he takes a step back, his hand coming up to rub at his collar.

"Dinner?" he asks, and her smile widens.

X-X

That weekend, he is back in the brightly colored tea shop, the smell of spices and fruits and flowers floating around him. Pansy sits across from him, her legs stretched out under the table, fixing her napkin in her lap and straightening the spoon in front of her.

"I think I'll try something different," he says, picking up the small paper menu. "Have you had the jasmine tea?"

A wrinkle appears between her brows. "You hate floral teas."

Does he? "Oh." He looks back down at the list. He orders Yunnan instead, and he gets a pastry as well, which is new.

"So," Pansy settles in, wrapping two fingers around the handle of her teacup, "how are the rodents?"

"They're not actually rodents," Draco says, stirring a sugar cube into his own teacup. "They're something different. The book says it's got to do with...their teeth? Skull? Something like that." He pushes his cup away from him to wait for it to cool.

She raises a brow. "There's a book?"

"I got it at the shop, the one Granger told me about, in Diagon Alley. It's right by that place that you go to for those quills you like." He drums his fingers on the table. "Mostly I wanted to know what they can and can't eat since they've started chewing on everything in my flat."

"I told you, didn't I?" she brings her cup to her lips and takes a small sip. "I told you they would only be a nuisance. Shouldn't they have gone by now?"

"Granger said it's difficult to find someone willing to take all three at once."

"So? Just split them up," she shrugs. "They're rabbits. It's not like they even know what's going on."

"Bonded pairs – trios – aren't meant to be separated. And besides, they're not that bad." His lips twitch as he thinks of them. "Al is a bit of an arsehole, but the Professor keeps to herself and Kingsley doesn't get in anyone's way."

"Is that what they're called? Al, Kingsley, and...what was the last one?"

"The Professor."

"The Professor – is that a real name?"

"It's short for Professor Bunns."

Pansy snorts. "And the other two? Are they similarly...abbreviated?"

"Mm." Draco touches his cup to gauge the temperature, but it's still too hot. "Kingsley Shacklebun and Albun Dumbledore."

"Oh, Merlin." She leans back and rubs her knuckles against her forehead. "No wonder they're all shits."

Draco bristles. "I named them, actually."

She sets her cup down with a clatter. "_You_ named – Albun? Draco." She shakes her head, and her tone reminds him of his mother, when he was five years old and she would scold him for sneaking out of his bedroom at night.

"You've named them, then."

"It seemed easier than referring to them by color all the time. Simpler."

"What are they like, then?" Pansy asks. "If they're 'not that bad'."

He starts with Kingsley because he knows him the best of the three. He tells her about the way he puts his paws up on his legs when he wants his head scratched, how easily he gets startled and the way he scampers away, his proclivity for meeting new people, as long as he's introduced slowly and on his own terms.

Pansy, he can tell from her face, doesn't believe him when he talks about Kingsley's personality. He can't blame her, because wasn't he surprised as well, in the beginning? He recalls the way Kingsley introduced himself, by taking cautious steps towards him and waiting for Draco to come the rest of the way.

The Professor is harder to describe because Draco hasn't gotten to know her yet. She's calm, and not as curious as Kingsley or Al, but she has her own quirks. She whimpers whenever she is in a deep sleep, and she rips the hay out of the trough but doesn't eat it, leaving it littered on the floor. Al is quite protective of her, grooming her and laying next to her, and Draco feels like that as well, for reasons he doesn't know.

His description of Al is peppered with sarcastic comments and sneering as he recounts all of the annoying things that he does: running in front of him while he's walking, jumping up on the couch even though he knows he's not allowed (somehow Draco just _knows_ Al is aware of that rule), or waiting by the bedroom door so that he can sneak in as soon as Draco opens it at night.

"I thought you said you didn't like Al," Pansy says when he's done, raising a brow behind her cup.

"I don't."

She points a finger at him. "You're smiling."

"I am–" he schools his features. "I am not."

"You are!" She grins, and it's unsettling. "Oh, I can't believe this."

"Good, because it's not true." His tea feels cool enough to drink, so he takes a sip before rolling his shoulders back, straightening his spine. "He's terrible, honestly. The other day, I was eating an apple, and he came right up and–" he makes a chomping gesture with his fingers. "Right from my hand."

She stifles a laugh. "Can rabbits eat apples? I thought they ate, you know, grass, or weeds."

"The book says they can eat some fruits, in moderation. Berries, apples, plums – Kingsley will go crazy if you give him a bit of banana."

He chuckles, remembering Kingsley bounding around his legs, nose twitching in the air, more active than he'd ever seen him, trying to get to the banana that Draco had in his hand. He stood so tall on his hind legs that he fell over, rolling onto his back and scrabbling to his feet.

"I actually met a woman at the shop when I was picking up some supplies," he says, picking off a piece of his pastry and popping it in his mouth. "Makes her own treats, out of banana and...I'm not sure what else. But she gave me her card and I owl-ordered some of them for him."

Pansy watches him, her eyebrows raised and her hand rubbing at her jaw just under her ear.

"Oryx has been cross with me," he continues, "so he was happy to get out. I get the impression that he thinks I'm keeping the rabbits as food for myself and just not sharing." He huffs a laugh. "But believe me, if I could give Al to him, I would."

Pansy snorts. "Would you?"

He sighs and wets his lips. "No, probably not. Al's fine, I guess, he's just nosy. Gets in everyone's way."

"Like his namesake, then."

"Exactly," he smirks. "I don't think Granger is going to be as appreciative of the implication."

"She doesn't know? I thought she was coming by every day to make sure you hadn't gotten them killed."

His fingers tighten around his cup, and he forces his hands to relax, resting them on the table instead. "Not _every_ day. She knows about Kingsley and the Professor, but she hasn't been by since I named Al."

He picks more pieces off of his pastry, leaving them on his plate. He doesn't want to talk to Pansy about Granger because he's not sure where they are at the moment, she and him. She's had dinner with him twice, and she seems amenable to spending time with him, but he can't be sure if it's because of _him_ or because of the rabbits.

He takes another sip of his cold tea and looks at her over the rim. He was used to seeing her cold and austere, her voice severe with an undertone of protectiveness. Her lips have always been thin, pressed tightly together, and her movements stiff and deliberate. The face looking back at him now is soft and kind, with one side of her lips raised in a content smile.

"Has something happened?" he asks.

She cants her head. "Happened?"

"Yes, you're," he waves his hand in her direction, "you've got this look."

She looks confused now. "What look?"

"Well, usually you look like you want to yell at me." He taps his fingers on the side of his cup. "But now I don't know what you want to do."

Pansy laughs, and he can't remember the last time he's heard that sound. "I don't want to yell at you," she assures him. "I'm just not used to you talking so much."

"Pansy, we talk every weekend."

"No," she meets his eyes. "_I_ talk every weekend, and you react to it."

"Surely that's not…" he trails off. "Is it?"

"It is," she nods, then reaches over the table to his plate. "Are you going to…?" When he shakes his head, she plucks two pieces of pastry from his plate and transfers it to her own. "I don't mind doing all the talking," she continues, "I'm just glad to see you with things to say." She picks up one piece of the pastry, inspecting it before placing it on her tongue. "You used to prattle on incessantly, and I mean..._incessantly_–"

"Okay, Pansy."

"–always _Potter_ this, and _Father_ that, and _wouldn't this be funny, Pansy_, or _you won't believe this terrible and unfair thing that's happened to me_–"

"I was never that bad."

"Oh, Draco." It's not the _oh, Draco_ from last week when she was thought he was making a mistake, but an _oh, Draco _that is accompanied by a barely restrained smile and shining eyes, and he doesn't care that she's making fun of him if it puts that look on her face.

"My tea's gone cold." He jerks his chin towards her cup. "Can I get you another?"

She grins. "Sure, Draco."

X-X

He comes to Hermione's cubicle at the ministry early one day, a little over a week after first acquiring the rabbits.

"There's something wrong," he says. "There's something wrong with the Professor."

Granger puts down her quill and parchment and gives him her full attention. "What do you mean? What's wrong?"

"She's just...lying there."

Granger furrows her brow. "I thought she always did that. That she sleeps a lot."

"Yes, she does," Draco taps on the top of the short cubicle wall. "This is different."

"Different how?"

"Just – different, I don't know," he runs a hand through his hair. "It's not a sleeping lying there, it's a _lying there_ lying there. I don't _know_, Granger, but something's _wrong_, and–"

"Okay, okay," Granger holds up a hand. "Let's – we'll take her to the vet. I just need to – hold on." She's babbling, but she pushes her work away and grabs her bag that's hanging on the cubicle wall.

The vet she takes them to is a muggle one, so they have to drive there, and the Professor hates it. Even in her subdued state, Draco feels the intensity of her glare through the mesh of the soft carrier as Granger drives over hills and potholes and speed bumps. He zips open one of the sides and pushes his hand in, giving her a reassuring pat, and she leans into him. He doesn't want to disrupt her, and she seems more comfortable with him touching her, so he leaves his hand in the carrier until they get to the vet.

The veterinarian, Mr. Walker, takes the Professor into the back room right away, carrier and all, as soon as they get inside, citing an emergency appointment. Draco can't stop fidgeting in the plastic waiting room chairs, his hands picking at his shirt cuffs and his leg bouncing up and down. Finally, Hermione lays her hand over his knee and presses down, keeping him still, and he takes a deep breath, his heart twisting in his ribs.

"Do you think Kingsley and the other one know something's wrong?" she asks. "I've always thought animals are more intuitive than they're given credit for."

"Al."

Hermione's thumb, which has been rubbing back and forth across his kneecap, pauses. "Al?"

"The brown one. I've named him Al."

She turns to face him, causing her hand to slide up his leg. He sucks in a breath and his thigh tenses under her fingers.

"Al as in…" when Draco's lips quirk up, she groans. "Oh, no, Draco, tell me you didn't."

"Okay," he says, closing his hand around the tops of her fingers. "I didn't."

"You did, though."

"Yes."

"You actually named him–"

"Albun Dumbledore," he says proudly, squeezing her fingers. "The most intrusive, busybody rabbit there ever was."

"You like him," she squeezes back and nudges her shoulder against his.

"I do _not_."

"Mhmm," she says, smiling. "That's why you named him–" she cuts off abruptly, her expression a mixture of horror and embarrassment. She shakes her head and tucks her hair behind her ear. "It just seems like you're trying to convince yourself, is all."

They don't talk about the war, even this many years later, but he knows she's thinking of his guilt and his questionable redemption, and making connections between that and the name he's picked for the rabbit he definitely hates but also is a little bit fond of. She's pulled back, though, and if she can give him a little bit, then he can too.

"He's alright." She grins at him, and he feels his lips turning up in return.

Her smile falls, and she pulls her hand back, hesitating. "I wanted to tell you," she says, and her anxiety causes him to tense up. "I've given your name to Beth."

"Beth already has my name."

She shakes her head. "Not like that. And it's really not a big deal, you don't have to do anything about it," she says, growing more earnest. "I just thought – well, I know you're not happy with what you're doing, and you're so intuitive around the rabbits – all three of them, really–"

"Hermione."

She takes a breath. "Right, sorry." She puts her hand back on his leg. "I've recommended you for a position at the shelter, working with the animals."

She looks at him as if he knows any words right now, and he waits for her to continue because this is the absolute last thing he expected her to say to him.

"It's got both a muggle and a Wizarding part, so you'd handle the typical cats, dogs, rabbits," she emphasizes the _rabbits_, "and then in the other part you'll get things like owls, pixies – they can be rather difficult – kneazles. Mostly smaller creatures. Sometimes they'll take care of a dragon hatchling until they can sort out a transfer to a sanctuary. They actually work closely with Charlie, Ron's brother in Romania."

She's _serious_. She honest-to-god thinks he should be working with animals. He wants to laugh, but there's a lump in his throat that had already been half-formed when he found the Professor earlier that morning and is now a full-fledged detriment to his breathing.

"I volunteer there sometimes, you know. So there'd be at least one friendly face."

His eyes scan her face, waiting for the other shoe to drop, but he doesn't find any uncertainty in her expression. She's leaned towards him, and his eyes are drawn down her face to where her teeth are making indents on her bottom lip. He swallows, tearing his gaze back up to her eyes, which sparkle under the bright waiting room lights.

Before he can do something stupid, like kiss her, Mr. Walker comes back to take them into one of the exam rooms. He expects to see the Professor but she's not there, and he rounds on the vet, who raises his hands in a defensive maneuver.

"We're still doing some tests," he says, sliding around Draco and stepping up to the exam table.

He asks him more about the Professor, some precise questions about her eating and drinking habits, which he can somewhat answer, and her pooping and peeing habits, which he hadn't even _thought_ to pay attention to. He wishes that he had his book with him because he feels completely out of his element here, his hands pressing into the cold table, the room sterile and impersonal. He doesn't like thinking of the Professor in this environment, because she should have more. She shouldn't be somewhere so uninviting.

"I'd like to take an x-ray," Mr. Walker says, and Draco tries to look like he knows what that means, furrowing his brow and nodding. Hermione's hand comes up to touch his elbow. "It will show us what exactly we're dealing with, and help us come up with a plan of attack."

Draco doesn't want anyone using the words _plan of attack_ concerning the Professor, who is soft and small and delicate. Mr. Walker's expression is severe and his voice solemn, and that combined with the aggressive way he's phrasing himself makes it clear that _what they're dealing with_ is something bad. Hermione moves her hand to his back, rubbing slow circles, and slips her other hand into the crook of his elbow, grounding him.

Draco opens his mouth, but the words don't come, and Hermione says, "Yes, of course. Whatever you need to do," and squeezes his arm.

When Mr. Walker leaves, Hermione turns to him. "They're going to take pictures of her insides – that's what the X-ray machine does. So we'll be able to see her bones, and some other parts of her as well."

Draco chokes. "They're going to take pictures of her insides? They're not – they wouldn't...cut her open?"

"No!" Hermione is quick to step closer and lay a comforting hand on his waist. "No, it's a type of medical imaging. They're probably just going to lay her on a table and take the pictures like that. It's non-invasive."

He releases a trembling breath and leans into her, sighing into her hair.

Mr. Walker comes back fifteen minutes later with a clipboard and the Professor, who immediately sniffs her way across the table to where Draco is standing, and Draco is relieved to learn that Hermione was right about the x-rays.

Mr. Walker puts the x-ray pictures up, and it's the Professor – but it's not, at the same time. They spread her out on a table, her hind legs pulled straight behind her, and that's...her ribs, her spine, her legs. Her bones are so small, and it doesn't seem right to him. It doesn't seem right that they put her on that table and took her picture like this. He makes a short, squeaking noise, and Hermione's hand moves around his waist to rub at his back again.

Mr. Walker points out a couple of things in the x-rays that Draco can't pick out, and he says words like "gas bubbles" and "digestive system" and "motility" that don't mean anything to him but sound bad. He then sets four different bags on the table, explaining that each one contains a medication that the Professor will need multiple times every day. Draco balks, rubbing a hand over his mouth because she's not much more than a kilogram and is going to be taking more medications than he's had _in his life_.

They go through one round of the regimen with Mr. Walker, and he shows them how far to fill the syringes and how to point it towards the Professor's cheek once it's in her mouth to avoid releasing it directly down her throat. The Professor is very clear in her distaste for each of the medications, and Granger takes down every tip Mr. Walker gives them for dealing with it, in a notebook that's the size of her hand.

"If she gets worse, you should bring her in right away." Hermione nods, writing it down, and Draco freezes.

"What do you mean, _if she gets worse_? We're not paying you to make her _worse_."

"Draco," Hermione warns, touching his elbow again. He jerks it away.

"Are you saying that these things," he gestures to the bags of medication on the table with a flick of his wrist, "might not even _work_?"

Mr. Walker is irritatingly calm. "Of course, we will absolutely do our best to make sure she–"

"Where would you rate your best, then? Right around 'throwing everything at the wall to see what sticks'?"

Mr. Walker sets his clipboard down on the metal table, and the Professor opens her eyes briefly at the noise. "I understand this is a stressful time for you–"

"You don't understand _shit_," he snarls, his hands fisting at his sides. "I thought you were supposed to be a healer. Shouldn't you be able to fix this?"

Mr. Walker takes a breath. "I am a licensed veterinarian, if that's what you mean," he looks to Granger, who nods. "This is an unpredictable illness, and everything right now is purely speculative. Her recovery will depend heavily on time and luck. We have other medications we can try as well if these don't help: other motility agents, pain relievers."

"That's just brilliant." He runs a quivering hand through his hair, and this is _wrong_, because they put the Professor on a cold table to take pictures of her tiny bones and now they're going to have to fill her with these – "Just – where did you get your credentials? There must be some sort of board that you report to, isn't there?"

"_Draco_!" Hermione glares at him and snatches the bags from the table, pushing the Professor back into the carrier. "Thank you so much, Mr. Walker," she says, zipping up the sides.

"Wait a minute – hey!" She pushes the carrier into his chest, and his hands come up to grab it. "I'm not finished." He turns to the vet. "I'd like to speak to your–"

"Twice daily, morning and night, correct?" She holds up the bags, her eyes impatient and imploring.

Mr. Walker nods. "Yes, and an extra for the food mix."

"Brilliant. Let's go, Draco." She grabs Draco's arm to push him in front of her and then plants her hand on his back, leading him out of the exam room.

He opens his mouth to continue arguing and sends Granger a murderous glare when he realizes that she's silenced him. She smirks back at him and prods him between his shoulder blades.

"I want to get a second opinion," he says once they've gotten into the car and she's removed the silencing charm.

"Draco," she says, and he cringes because she sounds just like Pansy did that day at the tea shop a little over a week ago. The difference is that this time, it's over the Professor and not Hermione Granger.

"No, I'm serious," he soldiers on, "that man is clearly unqualified to hold his position, and I want to find out who oversees these healers, so I can–"

"Draco," she repeats, laying a hand on his thigh, higher than it had been before, and he gives a shaky exhale. "I know you're worried–"

"I'm _not_"

"–and it's okay. I'm worried, too." She takes out her notebook, flipping it open. "I've written down exactly what we need to do, and I'll be there with you. Through everything."

His brain comes to a grinding halt at the words _through everything_.

"I need to get back to the Ministry. Will you be okay?"

He nods dumbly, head spinning, and she starts the car.

When they return to the Ministry, he asks for the week off to care for the Professor and has to look away from Granger's knowing look when he walks back to his cubicle to pack up his things.

One good thing that comes out of it all is that Beth is hesitant to have the rabbits adopted while the Professor is ill, so Draco doesn't have to worry about undeserving strangers trying to prove to him that they're worthy of Kingsley, or the Professor, or Al – although Draco wouldn't be as concerned if someone wanted to adopt Al.

X-X

True to her word, Hermione comes to Draco's flat at the end of the workday, tiny notebook in hand, flipped to a page in the middle.

He stares in silence as she fills the syringes and lines them up on the coffee table, and there are _so many of them_. His jaw clenches and his fingers curl into his palm as she sets the last one, the largest one which holds the prepared food mix, down at the end of the line.

"You should…" she gestures towards the Professor, who hasn't moved far from where Draco had set her down earlier in the day. "She trusts you more, I think."

He picks her up carefully, placing her in Hermione's lap and kneeling in front of them, and Hermione takes a firm grip with one hand on either side of her frail body. He winces when the Professor adjusts her legs to the pressure, and before he can think about it, he reaches towards her.

"Not so hard," he says, prying her hands away. "Just...be gentle."

He can tell that she doesn't agree with him, but she loosens her grip. Draco takes a breath and reaches for the first syringe, remembering what Mr. Walker taught them about the appropriate way to administer the medication.

"Into her cheek," Hermione reminds him, and he nods, testing the syringe with his hand. He presses the stopper just until it starts to give, and then leans forward and tries to tilt the Professor's chin towards him.

The Professor, in a display of more force than she showed even at the vet, tucks her chin to her chest as soon as the syringe comes into her view. Draco pulls back and waits, and after a few seconds she relaxes, resettling her front paws on Hermione's legs. He goes back in with the syringe, but the scene repeats and the Professor backs up until her backside is pressing into Hermione's stomach.

Hermione makes a noise from the back of her throat and sets the Professor down on the couch, then pulls her wand from her inside pocket.

She's halfway through an _immobulus_ when Draco's hand darts out to grasp the tip, and she chokes over the last half of the spell, disrupting the effect.

"Jesus, Draco," she says, pulling her wand back and dropping it to the ground. Draco reaches around her and picks it up before Al can get to it.

"Don't stun her," he says harshly, and her eyes widen.

"I wasn't stunning her, I just wanted to make it easier for us to–"

"Well, don't."

"She's not going to cooperate, Draco. It won't harm her."

"She's too…" _Small. Fragile. Precious._ He thinks of her tiny bones on the x-ray pictures. "Just don't."

She holds her breath as her eyes flit back and forth between his eyes. Her exhale hits him in a quick puff of air when she sighs. "Okay." She stows her wand back in her inside pocket. "Okay."

X-X

The Professor makes it through, but barely. It is three days before she starts eating food again, and five days after that until she is eating enough to justify stopping the food mix. The other medications stop a few days later, and when the prescriptions run out, they take her back to the vet that Draco hates.

He keeps a stony face for the entirety of the appointment, right until Mr. Walker comes back with the results of the updated exam and x-rays and tells them that the Professor is going to be okay. Hermione slips her hand in his and squeezes, and he can't help but sag in relief.

She's not entirely out of the woods, because she still needs to be monitored and they're not sure if this is going to be an ongoing issue with her, but for now, she is alive, and Draco feels lighter than he has in a week. He is even friendly towards Al, who meets them at the door of Draco's flat and runs circles around his feet until he puts the Professor down by the cages.

He vows to never let it happen again when he wakes up the next morning to Al hopping around on his duvet.

He's done a few things in his week out of the office that Hermione doesn't know about. For instance, she doesn't know about his visits to the animal shelter, or his discussions with Beth about the open position, or the fact that he has accepted the job that she recommended him for. He's been able to meet several of the animals, including a churlish cat named Criss Cross that he quite likes, a bowtruckle that tried to escape in his jacket, and an owl, Soren, who took a quick liking to him, though he thinks it might be because Soren smells the rabbits on him. There is even a garden gnome that the shelter is in the process of placing, who dislikes Draco immensely and has already bitten him twice.

She also doesn't know that he owled in his resignation letter and no longer works at the Improper Use of Magic Office.

As he expected, she arrives unprompted ten minutes after the end of the Ministry workday.

"I heard something interesting today," she says, pulling off her jacket and handing it to him.

"That's strange," he lays the jacket over the back of the couch, "and unlikely. I used to work there, you know, and I've never heard anything–"

"You prat," she swats his arm, and he cuts off with a laugh, bringing a hand up to rub at the spot. "You could have told me."

"You didn't ask," he says, and she rolls her eyes.

"How is she?" Hermione steps over to the corner, where Kingsley and the Professor are lying together. She reaches over and grabs the bag of banana treats, and they jerk awake at the sound of crinkling plastic.

"Better." He smiles when she crouches down and reaches a hand out to pet the rabbits, and they sniff all across her hand, seeking out the treats. "It's funny – I didn't really know her before. She's more active than I thought."

Hermione pauses, and Kingsley nudges her with his nose. "I wonder how long she was really ill."

It's something that Draco has thought about many times in the past week. It makes him feel guilty, the idea of the Professor suffering in silence until he could figure out that something was wrong.

"So – I've been thinking," he says, and she stands to face him, two of the banana treats in her hand.

"I...it's just…" He rubs a hand against the back of his neck. "The Professor is going to need someone with a watchful eye from now on. Because of...because of her poor health."

She furrows her brow, but her eyes are glittering, and her mouth is hiding a smile. "She does seem very troubled." Kingsley and the Professor are at her feet, standing as tall as they can against her leg, trying to reach the treats that she's still holding.

"And since I have some experience with all of it now – the vet, and the medicine, with the–" he mimes pushing on the syringe with his thumb, "It would probably be best if she stayed here a little longer."

"Oh?" She folds her arms. "Is that right?"

He gives a firm nod.

"Well, then I guess we'll just put up ads for the other two," she says. "If you're sure." She bends down to give Kingsley and the Professor the treats, and they fall over themselves trying to get to them first.

"Ah." He puts a hand up as she straightens. "Actually – you know, she's awfully fond of Al, and I wouldn't want to cause her any undue stress–"

"Of course not," she says, trying to sound serious.

"–so as much as I _don't_ want him to stay, I find myself forced to keep him here as well. Purely," he adds, "to ensure the Professor's comfort while she recovers."

"And I'm guessing Kingsley is vital to the whole operation as well?" She's grinning now, and his heart beats hard in his chest.

"I've read that it can be traumatic to separate rabbits when they're bonded," he says. "And if I'm already going to be keeping the two – not of my own volition, of course – I suppose it wouldn't be too onerous to add one more."

She looks like she's going to keep the charade going, but instead, she lets out a small laugh, shakes her head and says, "I'll let Beth know."

"I'm glad you understand," he says, smiling back at her.

She looks over to the rabbits, who have taken their treats to the cages in the corner and are now fighting over the crumbs. "It'll be nice–" she gives him a sideways glance, her cheeks flushing. "It'll be nice to see them. When I come here."

His fingers twitch, and he shoves his hands in his pockets before he can do anything rash, like reach for her.

He clears his throat. "They'd like that, I think. The rabbits."

She wrings her hands together, something he's learned that she does when she's nervous. "You know," she says, "I meant what I said. That I like seeing you with them."

"Did you?" His mouth dries, and he wets his lips.

"Yes, you're very," she swallows, tucking her hair behind her ear, "responsible."

"Responsible."

"Mm." He steps close to her and watches her eyelashes flutter. "And – and caring. I never knew."

"Now I know you're having me on."

Her laugh is shaky and unsure, and he lifts a hand to tug on the bottom of one of her curls. Her eyes watch him, tracking from his hand, down his arm and then up to his face.

"It's – It's really quite attractive," she says, quieter, more private.

"Yeah?" His voice is hoarse and excited, and he leans towards her, his hands skating up her arm. Her eyes flit to his mouth and back up.

"Mm." Her breath hits his face in a warm burst, her face tilting up. He moves his hands to her neck, delving into her hair, his thumbs resting on the corners of her jaw. "It's actually a well-known phenomenon–"

"Shut up, Granger," he breathes, pulling her face towards him.

The moment their lips meet is one he's thought about in vivid detail, but when Hermione pushes herself into him, he can't remember any of his previous imaginings. Her lips move against his with a light, teasing pressure, and her hands wrap around his waist and push up his back to rest just below his shoulder blades, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. His skin tingles and burns, but he shivers, too, the sensations and emotions coursing through him all at once.

She opens her mouth to his, hot and wet, and he breathes into her, gripping her jaw in both hands and pulling her closer. She makes an exquisite, breathy moan and he pulls one hand down to slip around her waist, holding her firmly against him. He draws her bottom lip between his teeth, the one that he watches her gnaw at, and a tight whining noise escapes her throat like she had been holding it back. He steps into her, turning them so that he is pressing her into the back of the couch, and he moves his hands to her hips, grasping them firmly to lift her up–

–when Kingsley pushes himself between their legs, forcing Draco to step back.

"Fucking hell, Kings." He shuffles his foot to nudge the rabbit away. "Do you mind?"

Hermione laughs, a bright and beautiful sound in his flat that has never quite felt like home until now. Kingsley is startled into running back to the corner, where he thumps his foot and stares at him. Draco pushes his arm across Hermione's shoulders and cards his other hand through her hair, watching his fingers disappear in the wild mass of curls and then reappear to slip through the ends. Her lips are red and swollen, and her face is flushed; she's here with him, and she looks beautiful.

"Thank you," he says when he pulls back, "for them." He looks over the top of her head to where Al is grooming the Professor while Kingsley is digging pieces of hay out of the trough. "For Kingsley and the Professor, at least."

She laughs. "I know you like Al."

"If you say so."

He has rather a lot, he realizes. He has his flat, which is filled with light and lovely hardwood floors and rabbits that love to scratch them up. He has a job that he thinks he might actually enjoy now that he's not at the beck and call of the ministry. Most of all, he has the beautiful, patient, and kind-hearted witch at his side, smiling up at him like she believes he has all these things, too.

"Do you want to stay?" he asks. "For dinner, I mean. Do you want to stay?"

She reaches up on her toes and kisses him again, soft and sweet. "Yes, I'll stay."


End file.
